


Dreaming of You

by CaptainJimothyCarter



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Dream Soulmates, M/M, Soulmate AU, soulmate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 03:04:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20075080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainJimothyCarter/pseuds/CaptainJimothyCarter
Summary: You see, soulmates existed. In this world, you only dreamed of your soulmate once you turned eighteen. Even then, it was up to the fates if you could dream of them right away or wait up to years at a time. And even then, the dreams weren't constant or even of their current doings, so you had to play a guessing game. Call it fates cruel deeds.So how was Steve suppose to find his soulmate, this spitfire soldier who decided he was going to take on a terrorist group for kidnapping his dog and one of his best friends? And how was he going to even be able to /dream/ about him when he had Insomnia?





	Dreaming of You

Sleep had always been the one thing that Steve had never had a problem with. Even as a child, his mother said if anything, she could always count on him to sleep at night. He loved to sleep, the way his body felt like it was floating on air, to the dreams that filled his head. Sleep was the one thing that was constant. The one thing that he was good at. While his body was shit; his heart struggled to beat properly, lungs struggled to breathe no matter the weather, or some other general fuckery wrong with his body, sleep was always there. Until it wasn't, until eventuality he fucked that up to. Until it grew harder and harder to fall asleep at night, and he had to depend on pills and medications until the doctors confirmed what he suspected was wrong.  _ Insomnia.  _ Just another item on the growing list of what was wrong with him. So long were the days that he could easily fall asleep at night, where now he laid awake at night, craving those wishful dreams and the feeling of floating on air. Of course, given his line of luck, this had to happen right when he turned eighteen, right when he was coming of age to dream about his soulmate. 

You see, soulmates existed. And when Steve had first learned about it he laughed, a real ugly bark of laughter right in the middle of his fifth grade class because the idea was hysterical, preposterous. Who in the world would love him? A boy who saw more of inside the hospital than he did a classroom. You only started to dream about your soulmate once you turned eighteen, that is if you could even dream of them. It wasn’t universal, you didn’t instantly dream of your soulmate the night you turned eighteen. It could happen any time between your birthday night to whenever the fates decided that you were allowed to dream of them. What you dreamed about them was another thing left up to fate, rather it was their past events, their current doings, or even compared to what some people said, you could talk to them if you were one of the lucky few. And Steve, well he knew he would never be that lucky. So while Steve’s classmates were always talking about their future soulmates, Steve didn’t bother. Instead, he focused on graduating and getting a solid job rather than worrying about some phantom lover.   
  
After graduating high school, Steve took a small part time job at Sam Wilson’s bakery, Red Wing. This was only supposed to be a temporary thing while he figured out his next move, but as life would have it, Steve liked the bakery. That’s where he found his natural talent for not only baking the most delicious fruit-filled pastries or killer muffins, but he had a natural talent when it came to decorating cakes. The cakes pretty much sold themselves and the orders were backed up, meaning Steve stayed constantly busy, he helped Sam’s bakery grow, and gain the support he deserved. He finally felt he found his place and he made people happy, so that was worth it to him.    
  
That’s when the dreams started, roughly five years after he took the job at Red Wing’s Bakery. At first, Steve thought it was just exhaustion, a few wisps of a man with silver eyes, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Then he heard his voice, the gravel sound shaking him right to his core. Of course, he didn’t mention any of it to Sam, because the guy would laugh at him [in a friendly manner] or tell Steve to take a break to figure this out because soulmate stuff was important. To Steve, it was the least important thing to him. 

The insomnia wasn’t too bad when he had stayed busy all day and today had been a hell of a day, with three custom order cakes, twenty-three various fruit-filled pastries ordered for a party, and two sheet cakes done. By the time Steve had gotten home, remembered to eat something, take his medications, and a shower, he was fucking exhausted. He didn’t even remember falling asleep, just his head hitting the pillow and the window blowing cool air on his face. The medications that assisted in him falling asleep always gave him some strange dreams that border on nightmares, but these, well the dreams weren’t normal. Even for him. These felt _real, _like he was there instead of sleeping on his bed, in his small apartment in Brooklyn. 

_ There was a man with his back to him, his profile larger than Steve’s, with broad shoulders, and short curls. When he turned around, Steve swore his heart stopped. The man was beautiful. His eyes were what struck Steve the most, bright silver. When the morning sun had hit them just right, he could see flecks of blue and green swirling around like a kaleidoscope. Dimples showed when he smiled at someone coming over the desert hill, a cigarette hanging from his lips. It was clear he’d been a soldier for years with the way his skin was tanned an olive tone, dog tags hanging around his neck with a pentagram Steve couldn’t quite make out. What struck him the most, out of all his features was just how sharp that jawline was and those full lips, like he’d been kissing someone before. So, why did he feel jealous over that fact? And why wasn’t this man a model instead of a soldier? _ __   
__   
_ “Barton!” The man laughed, an almost relieved sound to his tone as he flicked the cigarette into an ashtray not too far from him. Smoke hung around him like a halo as he greeted the other blonde, pulling him into a one-arm hug. The other arm held a rifle, their protective gear bumping into each other. “Thought you and Dugan weren’t back for a whole another day? Whats-” That’s when the man stopped, finally taking in the situation. It was clear how pale the other man was, how drained he looked. Blood coming from his temple, his nose broken. It was clear something was wrong. _ __   
__   
_ “They took them, us! We-we-we-we-” the man whispered, his voice trembling. “They took Dugan, Bucky. Even Ava. I-” _ __   
__   
_ Who was Ava and who was them? Why was the smaller, blonde man looking like he was about to collapse, tears streaming down his dusty face? Whoever they were, it infuriated the man, the man named Bucky.  _ __   
__   
_ With a steel look in his eyes, Bucky sat Clint down in a makeshift chair, pressing a bottle of water into his hand. “Drink. Then go to medical. If they ask, I’m gonna go get ‘em. My fault they’re gone anyway.”  _ __   
__   
_ “You can’t! It's a suicide mission-” _ __   
__   
_ “Then I guess I better say my prayers and hope there’s a spot in Valhalla for me, huh? They got Ava, course I’m gonna go get em.” _ __   
_   
_ __ Regardless it seemed Bucky wasn’t going to listen to this Barton. He flashed the tear-stricken man one more smile, trying to comfort him before hopping into a jeep and speeding off across the steep, sandy hills. There --

**BRRRRR** _ !!! _ __   
__   
Steve woke with a painful jolt to his system, finding himself flat on his back on his hard floor. His nerved felt on fire, like he’d been electrocuted in his chest. His chest ached, lungs struggling to take in the cold air that lingered in the room. He looked up at the white popcorn ceiling, trying to focus and to get his heart to stop beating so drastically out of control. 

What the hell was that? What  _ was  _ that dream? He was damn sure that he didn’t know a Bucky-and what kind of name was that anyway? Steve didn’t know a Barton either. They didn’t look familiar, not a customer at the bakery or in high school. Then, what was this feeling? This odd feeling that suddenly blossomed in his chest, like its always been there. If he stopped to think about it, it felt like acceptance, like belonging. Like he’d been missing some key part of himself for so long and Bucky had always been this missing link to make him whole. Why did his heart have to feel so warm and full and right in his throat when he thought of Bucky’s silver eyes and curly hair. Could this man be his soulmate? Quite possibly, but Steve easily dismissed it from a few of Sam’s Air Force buddies coming into the bakery and talking about old times. That’s all it was.

Trying to dismiss the whole thing and forget about that ridiculous dream, Steve prepared for another day. On the train ride to Harlem, he found himself sketching Bucky in his small sketchbook. The man’s profile filled the blank pages, getting the exact shade of his eyes was beyond frustrating. Maybe, just because he was a tad bit worried that it  _ wasn’t  _ a dream, Steve did a quick Google Search only to come up empty on every account of some man named Bucky and another named Barton that matched either of their descriptions. Maybe it was just the war talk after all.   
  
“What’s wrong with you?” Was Sam’s greeting when Steve came in, dropping his bag and coat off in the office. “Looks like you haven’t slept in a week, man. You wanna take today off? I can handle it..”   
  
“Just didn’t sleep well last night or all week, honestly. Had some weird dreams,” Steve dismissed it, shrugging his shoulders. He didn’t need Sam to worry about him too. “Nah, man I’ll be alright. Just let me get some coffee.” He yawned as he grabbed at cup of coffee and downed it in three swallows, ignoring the burning sensation on his tongue.    
  
“Been there, done that. But if you’re sure, then there’s some trays already baking. You got two more orders, Miss Parker came by, placed in a large order for her nephews birthday cake. Spider Themed. Told her you’d have fun with that one. She wants them by Friday, if possible.” Sam made an interesting noise called Steve’s attention, already halfway to the back. He spun around to find that his sketchbook was in Sam’s hand. “Your dreams couldn’t be about this guy, could it? Looks...familiar”   
  
Steve’s eyes were wide as he snatched the book from Sam and stuffed it back into his bag. “Stop going through my stuff, Sam! That’s rude, I don’t snoop around your office!”   
  
Sam’s laugh only made the blonde grumble. “It fell out of your bag, squirt. You know I don’t go snooping. Besides, that guy looks familiar. Can’t place where.”   
  
Steve didn’t hear the last part having already walking through the double doors to start on the spider-themed order, wondering what sort of six year old was obsessed with spiders. The last he wanted to do was think about this Bucky with his pretty silver eyes or his dimple smile. Or think about how he could possibly smell of cigarettes and warmth. Or maybe even how he seemed over the top friendly and very much like a morning person. Or how in a weird way Steve felt connected to this man. 

Steve liked to think he didn't think of Bucky today, not at all. He certainly didn’t think about Bucky when the buttercream icing had turned into the exact shade of his grayish blue eyes when he started to frost the rocks on this spider cake. Or how when the man who ordered a Brooklyn Skyline cake for some architect party had came by to pick up the said cake, smelled of cigarettes and warmth. He certainly did not think of Bucky when he took the bus ride home, more of the man’s profile filling six pages now on his sketchbook. Three of those pages were his stupid beautiful face with his stupid beautiful eyes and his stupidly beautiful chin and lips. 

C’mon, if this guy  _ was  _ his soulmate, then why did he have to be so beautiful? Why did he have to be so fucking handsome? It felt almost intimidating. That night, he tried not to think of Bucky, not even when his hands mysteriously maneuvered over his laptop, trying to search for anything that could bring up this Bucky or even that Barton, including various ranks of military and the branches. Nothing came of it, no matter how many ways he searched it. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe there was some hope that this stupid, stupid man was still alive. 

Thank God that he had the next two days off at this point, because Steve felt damn near drained, like he could sleep for a week. Thankfully, insomnia pills were already kicking in after Steve made himself very much comfortable under the warm covers. He didn’t have to think or have to worry about this Bucky fella much longer. And he could pray that he had an easy, dreamless sleep, like how the pills always brought him. 

_ Turns out, Ava was Bucky’s Multi-Purpose Canine that was with Clint and this other mysterious man as they scouted ahead. She was a beautiful border collie wearing a vest with the name labeled Ava Barnes on it. And when she saw Bucky coming over the hill, she let out the loudest noise she possibly could manage and barreled the man back down the hill. Her tail moved rapidly as Bucky wrapped his arms around her, rubbing over her warm fur and kissing her nose. “You’re okay, girl. You’re okay.” He didn’t ask. He said, confirming this. “Knew they couldn’t capture you too, girl. You’re too sly for them, huh? Show me where Dugan is.”  _ __   
__   
_ Climbing over the steep, sandy hill, Bucky was met with, well quite a sight. There was a deep hole in the ground, where sand still poured down below into it. A metal platform had been revealed and Bucky’s best guess was the fact that the bunker was underground, hidden by tons and tons of sand. And Dugan himself was, well rescued. To a point. When Bucky came upon hole and looked down, he saw what the aftermath of what could’ve only been a promising battle. Men dressed in black laid around Dugan, dead at his feet. A symbol in red laid on their backs, a skull with writhing tentacles around it.  _ __   
__   
_ “Are you gonna pull me up or keep on gawking?” Dugan grumbled, Bucky’s head snapping to him. He stood on the edge of the hole, Ava at his side. Dugan walked towards him with his gun slung over his shoulder, a scowl on his face. “Damn platform stopped raising when fucktard over here fell onto the controls and ruined it.” His thumb jerked towards a dead body laid over the controls, flies buzzing around his head in the hot morning sun.  _ __   
__   
_ “Nah, I think I quite like the sight of you down there. Besides, that means I can have your stash of coffee,” Bucky teased, holding out his left arm for Dugan to grasp upon, laying on the hot sand on his hands and knees. “What the hell happened? Barton got back to me, but barely. Only thing I got out of him was about Ava.” _ __   
__   
_ The pup’s damn near tackled Dugan, a tall, round man with a thick mustache and too round, thin glasses, almost sending him back into the hole. Dugan looked like the type of man that belonged in the 1940’s, not in the desert doing God knows what with these tentacle men. Something about the sight of them made an uneasy feel or maybe that was Bucky’s reaction, a concerned look on his face. Like these very men were nothing, but the scum of the earth.  _ __   
__   
_ “Touch my Mexican Coffee and I’ll gut you like a fish and leave you here in the sand to die,” Dugan grumbled, grabbing at the water Bucky offered him, shouldering his gun, but never quite letting go of it. “Bad enough I gotta hide it from Clint every damn day. Swear he has the nose of Ava here.” _ __   
__   
_ “Dark,” Bucky laughed. He still cast a nervous look down at the hole, but followed after Dugan, sand kicking in his wake. Ava was picked up to lay across his shoulders, not wanting her to burn her paws on this hot sand. “Still, what happened?” _ __   
__   
_ “Right, right. I was getting to that. Barton was able to fit through the vent of these things.” Dugan’s hand slapped his round belly, giving a small chuckle. “They gotta have them, y’know. Large vents to circulate air when they’re under this hot ass sand. Anyway, he was able to get out, after a few scruffles and send word back to you for help. Y’know, how we were suppose to just keep an eye on this group and just send word back when we were sure that their base was here? Knew about their base for a while, but didn’t know exactly where it was. Turns out, we were standing right on it. They had us at a disadvantage when the sand suddenly started to give and we fell right into a holding cell. Fuckers took our weapons and put us in a cage, held us hostage and started that rave and ranting about world domination. And y’know the rest, a few bullets would shut up any Nazi-loving group. Was starting to send Ava back to you, wasn’t sure how far Clint had gotten. Poor thing was about to collapse.” _ __   
__   
_ Bucky couldn’t help, but to laugh at that. Laugh just because it was over, because he could laugh now without the anxious feeling bubbling in his chest. Because the worry and anxiety over this mission, was over. Sure, they’d get yelled at for actually killing agents of Hydra when they were suppose to keep one alive to question, but that didn’t matter now. They had proof of the actual lab, there was no denying that now. Now all was to do was head back to base and bring a few trucks back to collect Hydra’s laboratory and works. Maybe, just maybe if they played their cards right, they’d get sent home a bit early. He could be there in time for his baby sister giving birth. If-- _ __   
__   
_ “James!”  _ __   
__   
_ Bucky was jerked out of his line of thought when he heard his first name. It didn’t come from Dugan who was behind him. Instead, it came from the figure running and stumbling ahead of them. As the man slid down the hill, Bucky was able to make him out. It was Clint. The man looked even worse, blood streaming from his temples and coating his perfect blonde hair. He had a nasty burn on his left cheek, and one of his teeth were chipped. He was limping drastically, part of his clothes were smoldering. HIs helmet was long gone and the bulletproof vest was hanging off of one shoulder with one of the straps broken.  _ __   
__   
_ “Clint? W-What the hell, man? How did you even get out here? Th-” _ __   
__   
_ “No time! They’re here. They followed me back. They-they wanted us to escape! The others are-are dead, James! Dead! Explosive blew them up. I-I barely got out of the wreckage.” _ __   
__   
_ Clint collapsed, Bucky barely managing to catch him in time in favor of putting Ava in Dugan’s arms. He cradled the blonde to his chest, his fingers stroking over his blonde hair and trying to soothe him. His shoulders were trembling with anger, pure terrifying rage burning through him. Hydra had let themselves be seen. Had purposely caught Dugan and Clint, just for Clint to ‘escape’. Then follow him back, just to find their base, and kill everyone. Guess they didn’t know how slippery Clint could just be. Morita, Jones, Falsowrth, Denier, all of their brave souls now dead. Lost. And through it all, his mind raging, all Bucky could hear was Clint apologizing. Over and over again, bleeding fingers grasping at his vest.  _ __   
__   
_ “Kid, you did good. You did good, it's not ya fault, alright?”  _ __   
__   
_ Bucky was barely able to get the words out when Dugan shouted in warning. Two jeeps were heading towards them at top speed, sand being kicked up in all directions from them barreling towards them. Clint was thrown over Bucky’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes as he started to book it, expecting Dugan to follow. There was no way in hell that they could escape military grade jeeps with heavy explosives packed away, but they could hide. Or die trying.  _ __   
_   
_ __ The second Bucky started to bolt with Clint, an explosive was fired from the back of the jeep. Everything had slowed down, like someone had put slow motion on. The world around them was slowing down, to the point that Bucky could’ve swore he saw the explosive being fired from the jeep and watched as it came straight for them. Over his roaring ears, Bucky could hear Dugan firing at the jeeps. One started to swerve and ran head-on into a dune. The other was still coming towards them. There wasn’t even a second thought as Bucky threw himself over Ava and Clint. Arms wrapped tight around them. Dugan had thrown himself on top of Bucky last minute, before the world around them exploded. The last sight Bucky was ever granted as the four of them flew into the air was his left arm floating ten feet above them with the middle finger pointed towards the jeep before blacking out. 

  
Steve woke up with a heavy start, finding himself for the second night, on the floor. He was tangled in his blankets, like a spider had wrapped him up as a snack for later on. His heart was beating fast again, threatening to send him into a seizure if he wasn’t careful. His breath was ragged and it took Steve several tries to free himself from the blanket. He grabbed at his inhaler, taking in several grateful gasps before his chest finally stopped hurting. Yet it took him longer to calm down, feeling like his every nerve was on fire. What was worse, was the fact his left arm was aching. His knuckles were bruised, maybe he’d smacked it on the floor too many times during the dream. That was...that couldn’t have been real, could it? No, something in Steve’s chest, a sensations settling on his chest made it very well known that it was real. That this Bucky Barnes and Clint Barton were shot at with an explosive, and could very well possibly be dead.   
  
With names in mind, Steve scrambled for his phone, damn well nearly dropping it behind the bed. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to know the answers. Yet he knew he had to, for the sake of his anxiety and for the sake of his nerves, he  _ had  _ to know, no matter the answer. The first article that popped up was a several week old one about local war heroes  _ James Buchanan Barnes  _ and  _ Clint Francis Barton.  _ Attached to the top were the photos of the men. Beautiful Bucky with his dimples, scuff, and smile. Those silver eyes piercing Steve’s heart. And Clint with his now blonde hair, free of streaks of blood, a nose that looked like it had been broken too many times, and a dopey smile on his freshly clean shaved face. 

_ Local heros, James Buchanan Barnes and Clint Francis Barton had served in the US Army as Special Ops Agents for five years. Their deeds to bring down the descrtruvie terrorist group known as Hydra had met an end when an attempt was made on their lives. The deeds of Barnes, throwing himself on Barton and his service dog, Ava had saved not only the pair of them, but himself as well. They credit their survival on those souls lost, including  _ _ Timothy  _ _ Dugan [who sacrificed his life by shielding both Barnes and Barton], Jim Morita, Gabe Jones, Montgomery Falsworth, and Jacque Dernier. Barnes had no comment other than that he was going home to finally see his baby sister who lives in Brooklyn. Barton had no comment as well, beyond rudely holding up a middle finger and being lead away by Barnes to their train station. Their dog, Ava had survived with little injury. She is now being trained as Barton’s service animal due to the man’s hearing loss from the explosion. Barnes had been chosen for Tony Stark’s experimental prosthetic line for veterans, where he will get to test out prosthetic for his missing left arm. Barton had been chosen for experimental hearing aids that had been promised to have been better than before. -- _   
  
Another photo, a more updated one was attached to the bottom. Bucky stood with his shoulders pulled back, a haunting look in his eyes. He was missing his left arm, the shirt he wore had the left side pinned down. There were bandages around his head, a nasty burn on his right cheek. The familiar dog, Ava sat by his side, wearing a harness that Clint grasped. Clint looked worse off, with bandages around his head, and a hard look on his expression. So they were alive.  _ They were alive. _ That was good. Steve felt like he could breathe easier now.

Not as much easier, but least the knot had loosened in his chest. They were alive. That was good. That was something to go on. And they were in Brooklyn, so he could...just try to focus on this vast city. Not like trying to find a James Barnes or a Clint Barton in this large city was going to be easy. Not to mention, they possibly avoided everyone and stayed inside after such a huge ordeal and with the media cramming to get some photo or glimpse of them, Steve didn’t blame them. The article had been several weeks old, who knows how much had happened in those weeks. They could’ve moved to Nebraska by now!   
  
Knowing sleep wouldn’t be an option, Steve grabbed at his sketchbook with intentions of heading out. He threw a hoodie on, Sam’s bakery stamped on the front of it. It was close to four in the morning, but that didn’t stop Steve from leaving his apartment. He needed to get his mind off of this Bucky and Clint and just try to relax. Try to focus on anything, but them and Ava. His heart was still beating a tad bit fast as he took off down the street, shoulders hunched over to make himself seem smaller than what he seemed.    
  
After finding a little coffee shop that was still open, Steve grabbed at his steaming cup of joe and a bagel, intending to just maybe stay here until enough sunlight was available so he could go to the park to sketch. His heart still ached, he felt a bit out of it but he chucked that up to the dream or maybe this highly caffeinated coffee. However, as life had it, that wasn’t the case.

The smell of lemon, just light on the touch had graced Steve’s nose. Honestly, if he didn’t know the smell of the cafe by now, with its strong scent of coffee and yeast, then he would’ve dismissed it. If he didn’t know that the smell of lemon meant or what would follow, then maybe he could’ve ignored it. But the thing was, Steve  _ did  _ know. He did know what the smell of lemon brought and how suddenly out of it he felt. And he realized that he’d been staring down at his sketchbook for over half an hour, pencil in hand. At this point, he knew had just a minute, if even that. “Call 911!” Steve blurted out to the lonely barista before laying on the floor, stuffing the hoodie under his head like a makeshift pillow.    
  
That’s when it hit him. That’s when his body seized to a painful point and his muscles and limbs jerked in the most painful sensation. That’s when in his head, he screamed. He screamed for what felt like hours and hours until his body and mind gave way and for once, Steve was grateful to pass out.    
  
When he came to, the blonde didn’t know exactly where he was. He was groggy and could barely keep his eyes open. Steve groaned, his throat aching. His throat felt raw, like every last bit of moisture was stripped from his mouth, leaving him with the worst case of dry mouth. Even his tongue felt brittle, like speaking could cause the flap of muscle to crumble. He blinked again, to try to clear his blurred vision to take in the room. Not a room. Vehicle. The familiar silver sight of the inside of an ambulance. The EMT was checking his vitals, muttering about how severe the seizure was, possibly brought on by lack of medication, to coffee, or even stress. Out the window, he could see the sight of lights and trees passing by, able to just hear the sirens over the own roaring in his ears. Seizure. He had a seizure and a bad one too, given by the EMTs mutter. He blinked a few more times before the groggy, exhausted sensation returned. Two more blinks and the small man was out again, eyes falling shut. 

_ “It’ll be good for me, Bec. Just something to keep my mind busy,” Bucky promised his baby sister, kissing her red cheeks. She looked just like Bucky, but with a more fememine features, a soft face, even softer eyes. She held an infant girl in her hand, wrapped in a tight pink blanket, cradling the baby against her chest. “Just gotta get outta the house, like the therapist says. I love you. You and Ava too, alright? Still can’t believe you named her after the dog.” The man laughed, but his laugh was strained as he kissed Becca’s cheek again before planting one on Ava’s forehead.  _ __   
__   
_ His left arm shined in the bright sunshine, glittering as the fingers moved to unlock the small gate. It was a beautiful shade of silver, with plates that shifted and turned, to constantly keep up with Bucky moving them. The left hand waved to the figure in the window as Bucky left, heading down the sidewalk.  _ __   
_   
_ __ A frown was on the man’s face as he pulled his phone out, glancing towards a speeding ambulance. His frown only deepened as he watched it pass, trying not to flinch at the bright lights and the sudden, sharp intrusion of the loud siren. When it was gone, he turned back to his phone, sending a few texts out to Clint and Natasha. Assuring them he would be over for dinner and that he was okay. He sent another text to Tony, updating about the arm and confirming his appointment with the man tomorrow. The arm had been a blessing, but it was still odd to get used to, compared to his, well flesh one. He could feel things with it, but it wasn’t the same as his flesh hand. Plus, it was a hell of a lot more stronger, meaning when he opened taxi doors, he ripped them right off if he wasn’t careful. 

_ Tucking the phone away for now, Bucky continued down the street until he got to a simple looking apartment. He was met at the door by an elderly lady who handed him a leash, an overly friendly pitbull on the other end of it. Two more stops required Bucky to pick up two more dogs, one a golden lab and the other a German Shepherd. The leashes were connected to a D ring on his belt, the dogs eagerly tugging him down the street. Bucky let them, because it was easier than to fight them and because he had no real path. _ __   
_   
_ __ Still, as they walked, he pulled his phone out again, that frown on his face again. It looked like a permanent part of his features. It was a worried look, tongue between his teeth as he pulled up Google. Again, he typed in Steve Rogers before hitting search. An obituary from five years ago popped up about Sarah Rogers, with a photo attached of a beautiful, young blonde woman with pretty blue eyes. Steve’s name was mentioned about being her only surviving child, but nothing else was mentioned about him. The photo attached on the bottom of the article showed Steve and his ma together, Steve looked like a spitting image of her. It bothered him. He couldn’t figure out about this kid that he had dreams about. Day after day since he was eighteen. He couldn’t figure him out. Who in the hell was he? He had to be his soulmate, but he couldn’t find him. With a frustrated noise, Bucky shoved the phone into his pocket and turned the dogs down a small alleyway. He knew Red Wing bakery was close to here and they’d allow dogs in. He just needed a coffee and a bagel. Those always cleared his head.

The last image Steve got before he was woken up was Bucky enjoying said coffee and bagel in front of the shop, leaning into the familiar pane of glass while talking to Sam. Steve wasn’t sure what woke him up, maybe the nurse attempting to put in an IV or the mutter of doctors around him. Regardless, the adrenaline coursing through him, causing his heart to pound and being recorded by the machine, caused Steve to sat up. He pulled his arm away from the nurse in time, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. “I’m fine,” he spat to the confused nurses and doctors. “I’m fine. I-I have to go. Thanks for...helping.” He bolted out of the room, around the confused ray of doctors and patience, his hospital gown flapping behind him.   
  
That didn’t matter to Steve, as he bolted down the street. It didn’t matter to him that his gown was half open, exposing two, pale cheeks to the whole world. It didn’t matter that his chest ached or that his vision started to swim. Or that it was growing difficult to breathe. All that mattered was getting to Red Wing Bakery. That was exactly three minutes and twenty-eight seconds from here. He’d timed it once, during his sleepless nights around the city. 

Taking the same alleyway that Bucky had, Steve threw himself down it, his sock-clad feet soaking in God knows what.  _ Please still be there. Please still be there. Be now. Be now.  _ He was praying, grasping at a sign. Grasping at a prayer at this point, praying to whatever God was listening. As he rounded the corner, nearly falling into people waiting to cross the street, Steve saw him. The familiar, beautiful man with the silver arm, and three dogs around him. He saw Sam who was laughing at something Bucky had said, gap teeth showing as he threw his head back to laugh.    
  
Steve bolted over to them, pretty much throwing himself at the man he’s only dreamed of, the surprise weight causing them both to fall to the concrete below. Sam caught Bucky’s head in time, eyes wide at the sight.    
  
“Steve, what the  _ hell?! You’re-”  _ Sam’s reply was cut off by the sight of the pair, ripping his jacket off to throw over Steve’s naked backside.   
  
Steve ignored Sam and the jacket, hands grasping Bucky’s warm, stubble face in his smaller, longer fingers. “Its you,” he breathed, tears burning his eyes, unaware he was even crying at this point. “Its-it's you! You’re the soldier!”   
  
Bucky had dropped his bagel and coffee in favor of catching this small blonde, his own hands grasping Steve’s face. His metal fingers cupped his cheek, the flesh hand stroking back the angelic, soft blonde locks that he knew the man would always have. He pulled Steve into a passionate kiss, ignoring Sam’s heavy scoffing. “It’s  _ you _ . You’re the angel I’ve been dreamin’ of.”   
  
  
  



End file.
